Our Ghosts in the Darkness
by JJ Gestapo
Summary: After her exile from the Pridelands, Zira lived only for one thing. Now, after her fall from the cliff, and washed away from everything she ever knew, Zira now fights for her survival in a strange land. Will she forge a new path in this harsh place? Or will the ghosts of her past corrupt her new life? Zira, OCs Please read and review :) May up rating in later chapters.
1. The Setting Sun

**I don not own anything of the Lion King franchise! Just my own concepts, characters, and storyline.**

**This story follows after the events of LK2. What happens to the blood-lusting Zira after her fall from the cliff? Washed away from all she knows, and alone, Zira faces her greatest fight for survival against new foes.**

**Any advice, comments and reviews would be most appreciated!**

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><p>"Zira, give me your paw." Kiara outstretched her forearm. With a snarl Zira swatted, losing her footing against the cliff.<p>

"Zira, come on!"

The sun had set for Zira long ago.

"I'll help you."

The water crashed below, frothing and boiling from the unleashed dam, threatening to swallow her whole. The young lioness had held out her paw, her voice sincere as she attempted to aid the older lioness. Zira's claws scathed the harden rock face as her own weight drug her further down, dozens of frightful eyes watching from above. Her daughter Vitani agape in disbelief. Kovu's green eyes wide. The lot of lionesses gawking. And Simba, rushing towards them from rock to rock.

With a grunt she tried to dig in deeper, water spraying against her hind quarters and making the rock below slick. Fear and hate had never gripped her tighter than now, her muddy muzzle pressed against the warm stone. The swollen river scoured the canyon, echoing against the curved walls. Zira swore she could hear a mighty howl from the murky deep, the long lost voices of sweet Nuka, of Scar's bellowing deep roar…Could they be urging her on to fight, or beckoning for her to join them in the afterlife?

She slid again, but this time she didn't stop. Her heart pounded in her ears, beating so hard she could feel her chest thump against the cliff that she clung so hard to. Wildly her back legs swung forward, searching for something that wasn't there. Kiara's eyes went wide and wet, whether from the mist of the splashing water or if they were tears, Zira would never know. With one last surge of her fading strength, the older lioness dug in deeper than she had ever before in her life, panting with exertion as the rock crumbled between her claws.

Then she was weightless, plunging towards the raging waters ripping through the gorge that beckoned for her. A fine mist bathed her, like a cold rain that came before the thundering storms after a long drought. She should have been calm, her sins absolved as she fell to her ultimate demise, knowing she'd join those she had lost to the great starry grass plains above. The entire world was slow and soundless.

But the horror of her own death robbed her of peace. As she fell helplessly through the air, suspended between the void of heaven and earth, she gasped and cried out. No life flashed before her eyes, no wave of regrets, no overwhelming sense of fulfillment or tranquility. Nothing from the raging hate that fueled the dark fires that burned in her very core provided relief. The only thing she felt was the absolute clutch of primal fear as she plunged to her death. Out of futile desperation she clawed at the empty air, as if something were there to grab and save her hide.

Death had never been so slow, and simultaneously so fast, as it was now. The cliffs drifting further away, the roar of the waves becoming louder as it drowned out the moans of the other lions above. A final crash of cold unlike any other broke upon her back. When she hit the water, it was like slamming into solid rock, knocking her final breath from her. Zira's teeth gnashed at the water, water filling into her lungs as the current drug her under.

And like that, Zira, the terror of the Pridelands, was no more.


	2. Lifewater

A/N: I hope to capture Zira's tough nature and the persistence she holds on life in this chapter. I struggled at moments with this chapter, so I hope it retains some fluidity between paragraphs. Thanks for reading, and I hope to add another chapter soon!

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><p>The wind brought the scent of sunlight and damp earth through the grassy plains, wafting over the dry broken husk strewn upon the empty banks of the seasonal rivulet. To the naked eye, the hollowed body appeared to stir, a sheet of flies blanketing the muddy and matted fur, eating at the open sores and burrowing through flesh alike. Nothing ever went to waste; everything served its purpose in the great circle of life.<p>

But this carcass had not expired yet, the flame not extinguished. A ragged breath escaped the cracked black lips, momentarily chasing the flies from the raw flesh of the split nose pad before they nonchalantly landed again. A muscle twitched elsewhere, sending a buzzing black plume into the air again, only to settle like fresh ash. Below the matted fur, past the smashed bones, beneath the bruised and hemorrhaged organs, an ember glowed in the dark, a spark that was the first colors of sunrise before it set fire to the sky.

The spirit of Zira stirred within its broken prison, each breath taken feeding the hungry flames within.

Had it been days? Weeks? A year could have passed by and she wouldn't have known any better. She had lost count between the lapses in her conscious. How many times the sun had passed her by, or how many moons had waned or waxed? The hunger that gnawed in her gut had subsided a lifetime ago, and all her body craved now was water. As rough as the cracked earth of the badlands, her parched yellow tongue lolled between broken teeth.

The sun rose higher into the sapphire sky, warming the earth beneath it, and her lifeless form as well. From the muddy shoals, the decrepit lioness stirred. The soft rays felt good on her weary bones, bringing comfort to her wounds. It was the only reason she had tolerated the black flies for so long. With great effort she lifted her head, the world swimming before her eyes, everything a fog of color and light.

'I have lost everything.' She said to her self, pushing herself up on her front feet. Each breath rattled and wheezed its way from her chest.

'And only I have survived.' Her back legs drew up under her hollow flanks, sharp boney ribs threatening to poke through the thin muddy hide.

'You've always been a survivor.' From the deprivation of the Pridelands. Her battle to be queen. The murder of Scar, and her son Nuka. The banishment to the badlands. The birth of her stillborn cubs. The plague of the hyenas and stable flies. Rising to power of the Outsiders and quelling those who dared challenge her. Time and time again, Zira had proved her tenacious grip on life.

'This is not…' She rose to her full height, broken, starved and battered. It took every once of strength she had left in her material corpse to bring herself to her feet.

'This is not…' Zira forced herself to take a step forward, pain lancing through every inch of her body.

"…HOW IT ENDS!" she roared at the top of her lungs. The sick howl carried for miles around, a warning to any and all who dared to come near. No matter the cost, she had to find water, lest she continue to waste away along the damp banks, waiting for the vultures to snip her open with their razor sharp beaks. She took a deep breath, tasting the sand and scents of every creature around her. Mixed with it was the sweat grassy scent of water. Had she any fluids left in her, she would have salivated at the intoxicating aroma. Zira slipped between the blades of grass, the only trace of her existence a shadow on the barren banks.

Being an apex predator and former leader of the Outlanders, Zira had always loved nightfall, but this time things were different. She was no longer a familiar in the lands she once prowled. Now she was a rogue, an intruder to any others who she crossed paths with. Being an older lioness, she would be shunned by any other pride. And any other nomadic males she might encounter…she could end up on the receiving end of their jaws and claws. Zira knew she was in no shape to fend off even an immature male, so it would be best to lay low and keep her presence concealed until she learned the landscape.

By the time the stars began to emerge from the heavens, Zira could make out a waterhole just a few paces ahead. There was a suitable amount of bank exposed between where the grass ended and the water's edge began, giving her plenty of open space to keep a vigilant eye out for danger. The water's surface was a smooth as a newborn cub's fur, an endless black pool under the moonless night. To the untrained eye, it looked calm and safe, but to an experienced hunter, it was the perfect location for an ambush.

She lifted her head and took a deep inhale, her whiskers perked forward to feel the air. It seemed that no other living creature was present -even the freshest smells were hours old. Warily, she stepped through the veil of grass and into the open, searching left to right. She stretched her toes out, feeling the earth beneath her paws –one of the first lessons she had taught all of her cubs. Zira picked up her foot to step forward.

'All my cubs are dead to me.' The thought darter through her conscious like the razor sharp tusk of a hog. Her entire body froze in position, her paw suspended in the air. Zira shook her head to clear the muddling thoughts, bringing her focus back to her surroundings as she finished taking her first step. Slowly she made her approach, scrutinizing ever inch of bush with a discriminating look. You needed to look and play the part like you belonged. If you hesitated for a moment, you would appear weak, and easily become another animal's prey.

Each step felt like a mile, and the dewy scent of water urged her to involuntarily lick her cracked, parched lips. Being so dehydrated, she couldn't stop herself from dashing into the water deep up to her gaunt belly, abandoning her defenses and wits as she took her first deep gulps. The water was so cloy on her pallet, it almost made her sick, but she kept sucking down the water in one long swallow. For a long time, Zira sat in the waterhole, trying to quench her insatiable thirst to no avail. It wasn't until her stomach threatened to burst open that she paused long enough to breathe, taking in her surroundings. There was nothing she could immediately make out from where she sat in the waterhole. But what did catch her eye was the image cast over the water.

Had it been her own face, she would have recognized it instantly. But what she saw was an empty husk of what once might have been a proud lioness. Her body was covered in open sores, red and oozing from where the flies had made a buffet of her skin. The mud she had been lying in was baked into her tan fur, caked in thick clumps that covered her in patches. Her jaw hung low and lopsided, the saliva runny and pink, several of her teeth jagged with chips, and her left lower canine had snapped in two –which explain the throbbing pain she felt throughout her face. Even her eyes were different, dull, listless –somewhere the fire had gone out, leaving two dull smoldering coals nestled under her bruised sockets.

Sitting in the water, Zira began to lick her wounds to clean her fur, the water quickly turning murky around her. In the distance she could hear the sounds of other wildlife surrounding her –the chuckle of hyenas, the low groan of an elephant troupe marching in the distance, the skitter of small mouse through the weeds, but it was the deep low territorial roars of other lions that send a rush of fear through her heart. Suddenly the water felt sour in her gut, threatening to make her sick as she struggled to her feet. She had lingered far too long, and soon enough other animals would be seeking the refuge of the waterhole she was occupying. Quickly and light footed as she could, Zira left the banks of the pool and disappeared between the reeds, slinking into the darkness. The only trace left behind were the muddy paw prints of just another animal passing through.


	3. Interlopers

Hopefully this next chapter is exciting for you all as it was for me to write. Please read and review, and let me know what you think

For some of you out there, maybe you will catch my reference in this story ;)

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><p>The early morning brought a certain chill with it, the barren ground unable to trap the past day's warmth. Under normal circumstances Zira would have made her bed on an open hillside so she could survey her surroundings with ease. But, without knowing what others lurked about these parts, and being in such a weakened state, she had clawed and drug herself up the trunk of a twisted tree for safety. Though it wasn't very high off the ground, the climb had been excruciating as it was exhausting, taking every ounce of the weary lioness's strength to scale to the lowest, thickest branch that could support her frail frame.<p>

Draped over the limb, she carefully stood up and gave a stiff roll of her shoulders while she let out a yawn. She picked her way over the branch and descended the knotted trunk, landing hard on her paws. Just the little bit of water alone had revitalized her body. She would just need to retrace her path back to the waterhole to satiate her pallet again before other animals came flocking in to crowd it. As she walked along the bent blades of grass she had trampled down last night, she paused a moment to take in her new surroundings. Everything looked far different in the light of day, much more barren that she had first thought for. The land stretched for miles to the horizon, flat and bleak, with a few rolling hills here and there. Most of the area was dry grass plains with several trees dotting landscape, and countless briar thickets that were inhabitable by larger beasts. What she found most concerning was the lack of streams or ponds. It appeared that one she was headed for was the only waterhole for miles -meaning that any and every living thing would stop by here.

For once, Zira could say that she had found a place that was worse than the Outlands. Back at her former home, she knew that the lush Pridelands were just half a day's jaunt away where food was thriving, and water and shade plentiful. Never once did she bat and eye trespassing into Simba's territory for her strength was on par with his, as well as her size. Here was nothing but the same desolate conditions all around. Not even a promising waft of green foliage was carried on the wind.

But...

Zira took several deep breaths, sniffing the air.

**But!**

She could smell meat. Somewhere a kill had been made, and it wasn't too far away. First she would get a drink of water before heading out to scavenge a few bites if she could, but she would need to make it fast. After seeing what this place had to offer, it would only be a matter of time before other predators would move in as well. The last thing Zira could afford was a conflict with lions or a pack of hyenas, she didn't have the physical strength to defend herself, more or less take on a challenger to protect a meal.

Quickly and quietly Zira stalked through the blowing waves of savanna grass, following the game trail to the pond. The lioness only took a few good laps of water, quenching her parched pallet before darting back into cover. She followed her nose to the scent of the kill, her ears and eyes scouting the land for immediate danger. In the distance she could make out the lounging forms of a lion pride off a good ways, but still within an uncomfortable proximity from the scent of blood. More than likely it was their kill, stalked under the cover of dark and ran down when panic had set in when it was separated from its sleeping herd. With their bellies gorged on meat, and sleepy from the hunt, hopefully they wouldn't notice the old lioness picking through the scraps.

It wasn't long before Zira spotted the carcass, a mangled heap of red dapples strewn through the golden grass. Great humped shoulders black as night rustled around the blood stained ground, screaming and hissing at one another.

"Vultures." Zira grumbled with disgust.

She didn't care for them much, nor did many other animals for that matter. Vultures were a sign of death, feeding off the remains of others, or snatching up the small or sick young. It was believed that they were the conveyers of death itself, seemingly always present when the life of another was about to be snuffed out. They would follow the herds for miles, waiting for the weakest to fall behind before they stumbled to meet their demise. Several times the vultures had assaulted her on the muddy banks where she had washed up, their razor sharp beaks leaving gashes in her hide before she could muster the strength to briefly fend them off.

With a low roar she trotted up to the carcass, swatting the black ugly birds off of the remains to which she hovered over herself. There wasn't much left but marrow and the stringy sinew clumped on the ribs and spine, and little flesh left on the hartebeest's face, but she was still too weak to drag it elsewhere. Instead she stood over the carcass with her body, hastily consuming what she could. One by one she gnawed the stringy muscle from the ribs. Never had any meat tasted better than it did at that very moment, the energy instantly coursing through her veins. After wrestling with a leg bone, she was able to crack the foreleg open and lap the juicy marrow from within. She had been feeding on the unfortunate hartebeest's bones for a good portion of the dawning hour when suddenly the hair on the back of her neck stood straight.

Zira paused mid bite, her dark amber eyes wide and ears swiveling left to right. Something was nearby, and it was stalking her. At some point the grass prairie had fallen silent save for the rustle of the dried grass swirling in the breeze. It was an odd feeling for an apex predator to be the hunted, unnerving to say the least. But the old lioness was feeling stronger, bolder. She had been brushed by death before, her latest instance the closest she had come to taking her last breath.

"Show your self!" she snarled, whirling around. She was only answered by the sigh of the wind, the golden grass churning and dancing about. Wildly her tail whipped around, her body jumping to life as she let out a deep roar.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" drifted the smooth cocky voice of a young male, his mesmerizing green eyes appearing first before emerging from the savanna grass like a crocodile from a stream. He stepped into the matted blood clearing where Zira stood over the carcass, continuing to circle her.

He was a mature lion, but young. For his age though, his body was full and large, larger than any lion Zira had seen in the Pridelands –even larger than Mufasa had been in his prime. His coat was a ruddy gold, his mane full and dark brown. Most notable was the droop of his left brow, giving him a very delinquent and thuggish appeal.

"Look Kivuli, an outsider." He announced, and just as he did, another larger male lion appeared soundlessly like a phantom from behind her. Zira had been so distracted by the first lion that she hadn't heard the other sneaking up. She whirled around in a dizzying manner, trying to keep both males in her sights at all times, her teeth bared and her head lowered menacingly.

"An outsider who doesn't know the _rules_." Spoke the one named Kivuli. He appeared to be slightly older than the first lion, more mature and heavier bodied. His coat was a similar color, but his mane was a brilliant mix of gold, dark drown, and black. His muzzle was darker and pocked with scars, and his jaw was crooked, drooping to one side. As he stalked around her he walked lightly on his paws. That's when she noticed several of his toes were crushed and deformed, some of his claws completely absent from under the sheath of fur, and one of his toes was missing on his front right foot.

'_This one is a fighter._' Zira noted to herself as she stared down the dark-maned one briefly, before the younger one let out an annoyed growl as he circled at her flank, bringing her attention to the real threat.

"Maybe we can educate her, starting with a little lesson." He flattened his ears and hunched his shoulders, a wicked smile on his lips.

'_And this one is young and reckless.'_ She concluded, noticing the excited twitch of his tail. He was all too eager to start a fight without getting a better gauge of his enemy. Too busy being full of himself to recognize a veteran standing before him, relying on his brute strength and size to overpower his opponents.

"Go back to your pride. I don't need any '_lessons_' from a cub like you." Zira retorted, wrinkling her nose and flashing her teeth. The dig at his ego was apparent when the smug smile morphed into an angered scowl. But the anger was fleeting, and the young male used his front paw to smooth back his mane as he composed himself. Zira didn't like the way he was grinning back at her now.

"Pffft, **my** _pride_? I don't think you understand…" He chuckled malevolently.

"We don't run with a pride." Echoed Kivuli.

"Those lionesses -and their sorry excuse for a stud- answer to **us**. This is **our** land, and every creature in our domain obeys us."

"You're nothing but a bunch of rogues, weak kings who've fallen off their petty little thrones. I don't give a hyena's backside who you are." By now the adrenalin was starting to flow through her body, every muscle armed and dangerous.  
>"You don't scare me."<p>

"Maybe you should be." The young one taunted, his eyes glowering.

"I've killed other lions before." And she had the ear notch to prove it. "You won't be the first, and you certainly won't be my last."

Zira and the young male faced off, both poised to pounce. Deep growls were exchanged as both lions stood their ground, the hackles on Zira's neck raising as the interloper took a threatening step towards her. But she hadn't forgotten about the one named Kivuli, and she happened to catch a glimpse from the corner of her eye of him shadowing her.

"You smell different-" He had begun, but before he could finish the old lioness had whirled on him, claws bared as she swatted him. However, he was quicker than she had anticipated, rearing back to dodge the blow, only allowing her nails to catch the few loose strands of his mane. With a roar the young lion stole the opportunity and leapt on Zira's back, his claws digging into her shoulders as his mouth grabbed for the back of her neck. Had his bite landed where he had intended, he could have killed her in one shake. Instead he had missed his mark, grabbing her by the nape and finding a mouthful of loose skin.

Zira bucked her whole body, rolling the big brute off her shoulder and slamming his back into the ground with his pale belly briefly exposed to the sky. That was all the opening she needed, and gunned for the soft underside, burying her teeth into his brisket and ripping out chunks of his thick fur. She latched on, feeling him struggle beneath her as he wrestled to break free. Even with the upper hand, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold him for long, feeling his weight shift to one side as he drug her with him. The old lioness let loose and darted to the side, knowing that if she was pinned beneath him she would never recover.

The young lion charged her again, rage blinding his eyes. Zira met his charge face to face, both lions rearing up to swat and claw at one another's head. In Zira's mind she saw her battle with Simba. The killer instinct ran deep in Zira's blood, and with a blood thirsty blow she clouted his head away, exposing his side to her. Her claws raked into the thin flesh just behind his shoulder, crimson blood oozing in parallel rows to the surface.

"Huh, that's going to leave a scar. Is that all you got old woman?" He spat, his pride obviously wounded. The lion was right though, Zira and he both knew she didn't have much fight left in her. She was panting so hard she could barely hear his threats, but she wasn't going to go down without a fight. And she wasn't about to waste her last breaths on a response. Action always spoke louder than words.

With a snarl she lunged low, feeling his large paws sink into her back as she went for his soft flank. He put all his weight on his front legs, crushing the lioness beneath him, her back legs collapsing as every ounce of her strength was pushed to its limits. She felt his hot breath envelope the back of her neck yet again, except this time he had choked up on his grip and was gnawing at the back of her skull.

"GIZA! ENOUGH!" Roared the other lion. Instantly the youth let go, reluctant at best, but still stood over Zira with ill intent. Kivuli padded over softly, staring down his roman nose with such command that the other lion backed off, cowering submissively with his tail tucked slightly between his legs. Zira lifted her head to look up at the scarred male.

She didn't like the way he was looking at her –she recognized the look of a male ready to take a mate. She had been around too long to see other prides that were overrun by young males on the prowl. Once the old ruler was ousted, or sometimes killed, they would kill all the young and force themselves on every lioness to ensure the next generation was sired by them. Those who resisted were brutalized; but sometimes the lionesses welcomed a younger spirited male with open arms. Zira had vowed when she was young to never let herself to be taken –it was up to her to walk her own path.

"Go ahead and try. It'll be the last thrust you take." Came her warning.

"Quiet. I have no interest in killing you." Kivuli said quiet and curtly.

"But brother!" exclaimed Giza, who had stopped licking his wounds to interject.

"You too. Do not interrupt me again, Giza." He warned, never once taking his eyes off Zira, dipping his regal head down to take in her scent. With his paw he took her by the jaw, turning her head left to right as he examined her fierce features. He gave her an indifferent look, the gears in his heads turning as he deliberated what to do next.

"You look dangerous. I like that in a lioness." Kivuli's guarded his tone didn't betray his composed face. She was getting the feeling that he was mocking her.

"That's because I **AM** dangerous!" Zira snarled, her ears pinned back. Her reaction elicited a lazy lopsided smile. With a throaty growl she went to claw at his face, only for the lion to evade her attack with a shake of his head.

"Calm yourself old woman. What's your name?" He stepped away, giving her space to breathe. She pushed herself up on her front legs, dignifying herself.

"Zira." she said, her back straight as she could manage as she looked down her snout.

"Zira. Hmph." Kivuli pondered for the moment. "My name is Kivuli. That ruffian over there is my little brother, Giza."

The young lion gave a disapproving growl, getting to his feet. She began to wonder if that broken brow of his was a result of fighting his older brother.

"Well Zira, you've earned my respect. It's not every day someone gets a swipe on little Giza." They both looked over at the restless youth.

"Consider yourself lucky." Snapped Giza.

"You may finish your scavenging. I suggest you leave this place immediate, unless you feel brave enough should we cross paths again." Slowly he began to turn towards the grassy wall from where he had come.

"Farewell, Zira." As he said his final words, he ducked back towards her, his raspy tongue lapping up the side of her cheek.

Star-struck, Zira gasped. She was left looking utterly confused as the two brutes melted back into the grass from which they came like apparitions. One instant she had been fighting for every inch of her life with tooth and claw. At the next moment when her guard had dropped, the elder lion could have gone for her throat and ripped it open as easily as the vultures shredded their victims. Instead he left her with strange caress that would leave her mind spinning for the next few days.


End file.
